


Sweet Silent Thoughts

by schwutthing



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Identity Porn, M/M, Madeleine Era, Montreuil-sur-Mer, Not A Fix-It, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Tension, also sugar, it is not calming, probably a Break-It, there is a lot of tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schwutthing/pseuds/schwutthing
Summary: Madeleine, it was noted, did not take sugar. Javert, it was observed, did.
Relationships: Javert & Gymont, Javert/Jean Valjean
Comments: 44
Kudos: 107
Collections: Les Misérables Kink Meme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaleran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaleran/gifts).



> Originally written for The Les Mis Anon Kinkmeme (Round 2) [prompt](https://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/11667.html?thread=2776467#t3448979): "M Madeleine breaks in his new Inspector. Like a horse." 
> 
> 2012 film **_heavy_**. Gifted in thanks of fic-rec that remained long after the initial was taken down.

“How much sugar?” Madeleine asked, the first time.

“Two,” said Javert. “And a half.” A pause, a lowering of the eyes. “Please.”

The Mayor levered two, slightly heaped teaspoons of sugar into the cup on the tea-table, then carefully shook the third spoonful till the grains sat just under the rim and deposited both the spoon and the sugar into the steaming cup, angling it to Javert. Opposite him, in an armchair with less of an imprint in it than Madeleine's, sat Javert, eyes alternately locked on the Mayor’s hand and his face, his own face a careful blank. Madeleine smiled graciously at Javert, and leaned back, taking another cup with him. Only when the Mayor’s shoulders were comfortable, and settled into his chair, did Javert move forward to take up his own cup.

Madeleine, it was noted, did not take sugar. Javert, it was observed, did.

\--

“How much sugar?” Madeleine asked, the second time. It was only proper.

“Just one,” said Javert, carriage as upright as ever.

Madeleine’s eyes angled polite askance, and Javert’s lips twitched.

“It was excess, the last time.” The words were careful, clipped, but Javert had begun fiddling with the edges of his uniform jacket in the most _un_ careful manner. Javert looked uncomfortable as he was, seated. He looked as if he would prefer to stand. “I do not usually indulge-”

“It is no indulgence,” said Madeleine, heaping another spoonful into the cup. He gestured at his own cup. “As you can see, my stores would not finish, and leaving the sugar unused would be true excess.” This time, Madeleine pushed the cup towards Javert, smiling, and did not lean back till the Inspector had clasped the cup’s handle and brought it to his lips.

The Inspector’s eyes were silent as he sipped his tea. When it was not pursed around the rim of his cup, Javert’s mouth was a compressed line. This much, Madeleine observed.

\--

“What is the purpose of this?” Javert had queried on entering the house the third time, two steps behind the Mayor. The tone was flat, and still respectful, but on turning around, Madeleine observed that a hand had been raked through the Inspector’s hair in annoyance. The short-cropped tufts stuck slightly out to the side, and Madeleine made an aborted motion with his hand, as if he had been about to smooth it back.

Javert reared his head imperceptibly away, but his eyes remained on the Mayor.

“I like to build rapport with those I work with,” answered Madeleine, folding his hands behind his back.

“I work under you, monsieur,” Javert corrected, a slight frown crossing his face.

“But still, rapport,” said Madeleine genially, and swept his arm towards the sitting room. Javert bowed slightly, then walked forwards.

“And now,” said Madeleine as he closed the door behind him, “How much sugar?”

\--

Madeleine did not ask “how much sugar” the fifth time. He merely heaped three teaspoons into the cup before Javert had fully composed himself in the armchair. With his lips tipped upwards at the corners, he gave it a light stir, and offered the drink to the Inspector with two hands, one hand on the handle, the other positioned under the saucer’s rim.

It was only proper that Javert received in kind. He did, fingers skirting about Madeleine’s, eyes still silent, and careful.

Nevertheless, their knuckles brushed, and if Javert’s eyes flickered, suddenly unquiet, to catch the Mayor’s glance, if his fingers twitched, coltish, against the decorated porcelain before grasping it fully, neither voiced it.


	2. Chapter 2

They passed each other by in the street, Javert today on his horse. Madeleine, on foot, tipped his hat to the Inspector, who dipped his chin and nudged the horse till it ambled closer to the Mayor, bringing them up side by side. “Good day, monsieur” said Javert. His usually thinned lips pressed even further together outdoors, and his jowl seemed to lie flat into his collar. Madeleine smiled up at him, squinting though the skies were grey. “Javert.” Javert shrugged his head once more in acknowledgement.

“Where are you off to, today?” Madeleine kept his voice light.

“The coasts, monsieur.”

“Is there much to report from the coasts?”

“To be determined.” The Inspector’s mouth reined in further words, it seemed. His eyes were impatient, and the horse sensed it, lifting one hoof forwards slightly. Madeleine continued smiling, unmoved.

“And who will be delivering this report, in time?” asked Madeleine.

Javert huffed slightly, fingers of one hand drumming the back of his saddle. “If it pleases Monsieur le Maire, I will have one sent—”

“It would please me if you delivered it,” Madeleine said. Javert huffed again, swallowing it with a cough.

“Monsieur I—”

“Is this not within your scope?”

“Yes but—”

“But what, Javert?” It was Gymont who huffed this time, and a soft clatter of hooves sent Javert a step further away from the Mayor. Javert blinked at the Mayor, looking at Madeleine’s arm which had reached out to both horse and rider. He blinked again.

“Surely, it is not _proper_.” The last word grated from Javert’s teeth, almost a whine, even as he patted at Gymont’s neck to quieten him. Madeleine’s arm was still outstretched, fingers close enough to tap at where Javert’s ankles would have been had the horse not moved. Madeleine’s wrist curled, and he withdrew his arm, clasping his hands behind his back instead.

“Ah, Javert, it is proper should I deem it,” said Madeleine now, eyes losing some of their smile though his voice remained light as ever.

“Of course, monsieur.” Javert’s voice was flat once again, and he picked up the reins of his horse. “I will come at even, then.” Another nod, and he clicked his tongue at Gymont, and rode off without turning back. Madeleine watched on, hands still behind his back, still smiling.

The townspeople which lingered in the street paid the Mayor no mind except to wonder if he would give them coin, standing there as he often was in the streets. True enough, the Mayor turned to a young lad crouched at the fountain and proffered a centime. It was duly accepted. As he straightened and continued his walk through the town, his steps remained measured (the ladies sometimes called it “stately”). The townspeople knew Madeleine to be a cordial, kind man, and none noticed the tension that now lay in his shoulders and stretched past his elbow as one hand gripped its brother, just a little bit too tight. It was just as well that Javert, blinkered in that moment by duty’s schedule, had not noticed either.

When Javert arrived at the mairie, the sky was dark, and Madeleine was the picture of relaxed candour. He opened the door, and his arms, to the Inspector, and ushered him through the threshold. Javert strode in quickly. “You seem eager to rid yourself of this exercise, Inspector,” said Madeleine as he held out his hands to receive Javert’s coat. Javert did not remove it. Instead, he snorted, and shook his head.

“In most towns, the mairie has an office. It is proper, in such cases, that reports be delivered there. But Monsieur le Maire’s office is located at the factory, and there is none here.”

“You take issue with this?”

“I work under you, monsieur.” The words came out chewed. 

“You would prefer that I convert a room here into an office proper?” 

Discomfort pulled at Javert’s lip, turning it downwards. “I would not seek to direct monsieur to do anything,” he said.

Madeleine’s eyes crinkled pleasantly. “Then come, Javert, and take some tea.”

Discomfort pulled at more than just Javert’s lip now, working to his jaw and neck, but he did not protest further, and followed Madeleine. Only when Madeleine reached for the sugar bowl did Javert’s hands sprint forwards to take it up himself with a hurried “Monsieur”. At first Madeleine was pleased, but his smile froze when he saw that Javert had only placed half a teaspoon of sugar in his cup. Javert placed the sugar bowl down and shuffled back in the chair before Madeleine could do anything further.

Madeleine folded his hands over his knee.

Javert’s sip was slow. Concentrating as he was on the flicker of light off the table, he did not observe Madeleine’s shuttered look. After two sips, he began his report. At the end of the visit, Madeleine had agreed for more gendarmes to be acquired in order to maintain a fixed patrol along M-Sur-M’s coastline, to prevent disorder brought about by those flocking to the town but till date had no papers to enter. When Javert stood to bow and leave, Madeleine stopped him with a raised palm. “Just remember, Javert, they are to maintain order only.”

“Monsieur?”

“No excess.” The firelight shadowed Madeleine’s face, and Javert could not make out the tone.

“Of course, Monsieur Le Maire.”

As he left, Javert wondered briefly if Madeleine had minded the stale scent of sea spray that still clung to his clothes. Back in the mairie, Madeleine considered the sugar bowl, and let out a soft, taut laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

“Javert?”

Javert turned around, one hand still on Gymont’s mane, the other holding a dandy brush. The horse whinnied at the sudden movement and took two paces back in the stall. A second later and Javert’s movements were the same, his shoulders startling into a bow. Madeleine stood in the doorway of the stables, suddenly looking sheepish. The smell of clean hay washed past Madeleine.

“Monsieur le Maire,” intoned Javert, aiming his eyes at the Mayor’s feet.

“That is—uh,” began Madeleine, then cleared his throat. His feet waited till Gymont snuffled and quietened, then they moved forward till they stood half a metre in front of Javert’s. “That is a good horse.” Madeleine considered the horse more than its owner, standing close as he was to Javert, coat sleeves almost touching. 

Javert looked up, face not quite a smile. “He is a fine horse. Fit for war, I’ve been told. No, too good for it.” He fell silent, then, “Did monsieur want something?” His hand, still at Gymont’s neck, patted it absently as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He looked at Madeleine. On his part, Madeleine’s full attention appeared to be on the horse, a hand reaching to stroke Gymont’s nose. When the horse did not shy away, Madeleine kept the back of his hand raised, pressing light strokes at Gymont’s face. This remained the only movement in the stable as time yawned momentarily. Then the horse bumped Madeleine’s hand away the same time Javert said another “Monsieur”.

Brought out of his brief reverie, Madeleine staggered backwards and grasped the closest thing he could: Javert’s arm.

Muscle tensed through cloth and thread, then Javert was stumbling after the Mayor. They both caught themselves, Madeleine catching himself on the front of Javert’s coat, Javert catching the Mayor at his elbows. They did not quite fall to the ground, as Javert’s shoulder had found some purchase at a nearby post. Madeleine let out a small laugh and tilted his head upwards to Javert’s surprised one. “Hello,” he said, and laughed again. Extra colour seemed to dot the sides of Javert’s cheeks as he let out a short puff which ruffled Madeleine’s fringe, but he did not let go till the Mayor had fully straightened, and seemed to press a moment longer than necessary before releasing the Mayor. His hands flew back to his sides.

“Is monsieur alright?” Javert asked, breath short.

“Yes,” said Madeleine. “Yes. I think so.” His clapped one hand on Javert’s shoulder and laughed yet again. “Yes.” Javert did not twitch away but bore the warmth of Madeleine’s hand. And was Madeleine imagining it? Perhaps Javert was leaning into his hand ever so—

Madeleine removed his hand before his thumb could circle the curve where arm met chest. He straightened his own coat and top hat. Javert still looked at the Mayor, puzzlement colouring his brow. “I was looking for you,” Madeleine said.

“And I have asked you why,” Javert said, almost, but not quite, haughty. “Monsieur le Maire.” His shoulders rolled back to attention. His breath had resumed its even pace, but Madeleine’s still fluttered across his forehead. Javert found that his breathing slowed even more as one foot edged its way to the side. Madeleine was too close.

But then Madeleine stepped away, and the air between them seemed suddenly too cool.

“I have forgot, it seems,” said Madeleine, a distracted look on his face. Eccentricities of the Mayor could be forgiven. Though he always seemed eager to ply Javert with—

“Javert, would you not come round for tea to give your report today?” Yes, there was that. Somewhere in the stall, Gymont harrumphed.

-~-

There was bread and cheese this time.

“You indulge me too much, monsieur,” Javert said, on spying the food. He had hoped this visit would be short. He had not taken off his greatcoat because of it, had stepped back when Madeleine’s hands opened as they had the last visit. The fire glowed warmly, and Javert did at least remove his gloves now, standing just past the door. He was glad that he had managed to change into cleaner boots, at least, and no longer carried on him the stench of manure from the stables. It was, after all, only proper.

“It is only because you do not indulge yourself,” replied Madeleine evenly as he stepped up beside the Inspector. Javert tossed his head lightly and stared at the Mayor from the side of his eye. Madeleine continued. “You work day and night, almost unceasingly. You patrol with your men when it is not required.” When Javert did not reply, Madeleine said, “I have seen you.”

“It is my duty.”

“You do not take bribes,” said Madeleine. At that, Javert’s head snapped round to look at the Mayor full on. His heels dug into the ground.

“I would not.” The words were bit out.

“There are those who would.”

“I am not them.”

“No,” said Madeleine. “You are not.” He stepped closer. “And,” Madeleine said, moving to pluck the ledger from Javert’s hands, “you groom your own horse.” He placed the ledger on the sideboard and began unbuttoning the Inspector’s greatcoat. Javert lowered his head, watching as the hands moved down his front, grasping a coat button.

“To build rapport,” Javert said quietly. Fingers nudged buttons through loops, and the cloth sighed, but Javert did not stir, perchance, he did not breathe. The Mayor pushed the greatcoat’s material back and eased it off Javert’s shoulders, and only then did Javert make the smallest of shrugs. Madeleine smiled, folding the coat over his arm. He gestured to the armchair.

“Three sugars, I think, today,” said Madeleine. Javert inclined his head, acquiescing.


	4. Chapter 4

“Ah, Javert.”

“Monsieur le Maire.”

“Would you deliver your reports to me this evening?”

“Of course, Monsieur.” A bobbing sort of bow.

“Good.” A touch on the arm. A smile. With that, the Mayor quit the street and entered his factory, and the Inspector looked on after him, watching as he walked beyond the back of the factory and up the stairs that would take him to his office. Javert walked away before he could see that Madeleine had paused midway, and was off down the street on his rounds, heels stamping along the cobbles. Madeleine did not quite turn, but his shoulders rounded in on themselves a touch, and a little breath escaped them before he took the remaining steps to his office.

Javert, exacting, paced the inner streets without Gymont that day. The townspeople did pay Javert mind, as they were wont to do when it came to the Inspector. Here and there a beggar scurried deeper into the annex they sat in, and farther on, pimps, thieves and drunk sailors knew to side-step out of sight. There would be little to report.

By sunset, he was at the Mayor’s abode, kicking his soles over a raised stone to rid them of mud before he entered the gate. Once satisfied, Javert went up the path and knocked on the door. Madeleine appeared within the minute, smelling, almost, of meadow. Javert bowed.

“Javert, do come in.” Javert did. He doffed his hat, and on spying Madeleine’s fingers approaching him, he quickly worked the buttons off his greatcoat with one hand, lowering his brows as he did so. Madeleine’s fingers flittered in the space between them a moment before the Mayor pressed them onto the wooden panelling beside Javert’s now bent head.

On finishing with his buttons, Javert did not jerk back, though his eyes stilled when he straightened only to find himself in line with the crook of Madeleine’s arm. Not to be corralled, he shifted half a pace to the side, eyes still fixed on Madeleine’s sleeve, which too did not move. Javert folded the greatcoat quickly over his arm twice, and proffered it to the Mayor, taking opportunity to situate him a step further away without offending.

Madeleine cleared his throat and took the coat. Javert’s eyes stirred now, watching as Madeleine carefully hung the coat aside, then faced him fully with a smile and a nod. Javert mirrored Madeleine’s nod.

“Monsieur le Maire, let me make it brief today,” began Javert.

“Nonsense, Javert. There is food tonight.”

“Monsieur, I have not much to say.”

“Why so?”

“There is not much of significance that occurred.”

“You patrolled: is that not worth reporting?” Madeleine swept his arm towards the sitting room door now.

“It is but routine.”

Javert noted that Madeleine was in his usual green coat and that, again, the smell of freshly dewed grass floated from the Mayor. Javert should have changed into something cleaner before coming here. As he had not, Javert could merely suppress a grimace.

“Ah, Javert,” said Madeleine lowly, “You and I both know that you intended a new route today.” This much was true. He had told the Mayor of that three days ago, on a similar evening, after his and his men’s tracks for a week prior had rather suspiciously uncovered naught. Javert’s nostrils flared slightly and his grimace twisted itself into his lip at Madeleine’s words.

“Monsieur le Maire is right.”

Madeleine positively beamed. “Indeed, Javert, then you must come now and sit. You must be tired.” Javert did not say a second time that the Mayor was right. He took off his gloves as he walked ahead of the Mayor, ushered as he was by Madeleine into the room. Simple broth and bread, as well as the expected tea and sugar were set up at the low table. The armchair’s seat cushion crumpled with Javert’s weight as he sat down. The Mayor took up residence in the opposite seat, the cloth there sinking with a quieter rustle.

Madeleine poured tea for them both, then took up the sugar bowl, levelling half a teaspoon into his cup. For Javert’s cup, he heaped two spoons in, and Javert had not the energy to protest.

“More, Javert?” asked Madeleine. A simple question, really.

Javert made to answer ‘no’, but his mouth stuck, and the word would not come. Perhaps the day had truly wrung him dry. When he finally worked enough saliva into his throat, he rasped out, “Yes, please.” He closed his eyes momentarily and heard light metal clinking at porcelain. When he opened his eyes to accept the cup, he saw Madeleine motionless in all else save his stirring of the spoon, eyes cast towards Javert.

“You have walked much, today, Javert,” said the Mayor. Javert made to wave the notion away but found that his hand once raised was rubbing at his temples slightly instead. Javert heard, faintly, blood trampling past his ears. He bared his teeth, quick, swallowed again, blinked.

“Perhaps, Monsieur le Maire,” he said. He had yet to take the cup, and even now Madeleine watched him. By the time Javert had made to move forwards, the Mayor had himself done so, and their sleeves brushed. Cup in his face, Javert received it. The Mayor smiled kindly, withdrew to his chair and the smile was hid as the Madeleine took up his own cup and drank. Javert raised his cup to do the same. After the first sip, Javert found the tea of the right warmth to take in a deeper gulp, and so he did, letting his eyes slide shut a moment more. As the roar behind his ears faded, Javert thought he heard a sigh that was not his. 

It was observed that Javert’s mouth was no longer a compressed line, but that his lips sat supple above his chin.


	5. Chapter 5

“Here, Javert, let me take your coat.”

Javert wondered when he had become accustomed to the Mayor doing this, wondered when he began permitting it. Fingers swept across his shoulders and past his arms. A thumb grazed his wrist. Madeleine tugged the last sleeve free. Javert drew back his hands to remove his gloves himself. It was too warm to wear them.

“You will have me taking off my boots on entering, next,” said Javert. He allowed himself a smirk.

The look Madeleine gave him was inscrutable, though Javert felt faint heat lick past his cheeks. The moment was lost when Madeleine’s face released with an arch of an eyebrow and a faint smile.

“Perhaps, Inspector. And now.” Madeleine folded his words even as he folded Javert’s coat over his arm.

“Yes, monsieur, the tea.”

“And you will take?”

“Yes, I will take sugar,” said Javert with a slight flip of his head, as if trying to deal with an invisible fringe. He followed the Mayor into the sitting room. Soon, they were seated in their respective chairs, for indeed, the chair that Javert used had grown less stiff with a more constant user, and its imprint fit his shape.

This had been the ritual for slightly more than three months: that at least twice a week, Javert as the Inspector of M-Sur-M would deliver his reports at the Mayor’s own residence, at the Mayor’s request. Javert came to perceive that this might be to avoid gossip excited by any overhearing at the factory. The town was small, and the matter of disputes and grievances flew about fast enough even without their presence in his reports. Madeleine would merely joke that it was to finish his sugar stores.

Javert took three sugars this evening, and drank half a cup before commencing his report.

“And this fellow?” asked Madeleine, sometime later. He was leaning over Javert’s shoulder from behind the armchair, one hand on top of the back rest, the other reaching past Javert to point at an entry. Madeleine’s sleeve nudged against Javert’s own.

“A dispute at the baker’s residence,” said Javert. Madeleine did not seem inclined to shift his arm away again. “Said his sister’s children were dying.” The arm against his stilled, the flexed, then stilled again. Javert kept on speaking. “Was begging for the burnt loaves but another man on the street had kicked him.” Madeleine’s arm moved such that the crook of his elbow rested against Javert, just at the clavicle, fingers left loose across Javert’s chest as he ceased pointing. Javert’s breath hitched even as he said, “a scuffle ensued.”

Madeleine moved his head down over the other side of Javert’s head, chin on the backrest, still looking at the ledger. His mouth tilted to Javert’s ear, so that Javert could feel the warm, even breaths fall at the side of his face even as he continued relating the details of the event. Javert swallowed. “A brawl…”

“And how was it resolved?” Madeleine’s voice was soft now, but close, so close to Javert’s ear.

“I—I dismissed them. With a warning.”

“No charges?” The question thrummed.

“They did not want to place them. With no forthcoming witnesses, I saw no need.” Javert did not appreciate the silence stretching when the Mayor made no response. “They were both citizens,” said Javert. At the Mayor’s quiet “ah” he craned his neck to face Madeleine. “Even the poor one.” His nape now rested in the curve of Madeleine’s arm, his head was tilted back, and he squinted. “I settled it.” Javert blinked, lashes prancing on his cheeks as he tried to bring the Mayor into focus. “As is my duty.”

“Ah,” said Madeleine again. He straightened, patted Javert lightly just where neck met shoulder, then lifted his hand entirely. His fingers barely grazed the top of Javert’s left ear as he moved back.

“Good,” said Madeleine. A new warmth seemed to suffuse through the room, and Javert bent his head to it.

“Shall I continue, Monsieur le Maire?”

“Yes. Surely.” Madeleine stepped round towards the mantelpiece. 

“There is a complaint concerning a cart nearly running down a woman and child,” said Javert as he flipped a page, but he found himself fidgeting with the paper’s corners. He frowned at his errant fingers, and when they stilled, looked up. Madeleine made to fill Javert’s cup once more.

“Assuredly, this tea grows cold, Javert.”

The Mayor’s eyes twinkled with gentle mirth. Javert’s brows drew slightly together as he returned Madeleine’s smile with a small one of his own. His hands calmed.


	6. Chapter 6

“Whoa there, whoa!” A man’s voice could be heard round the corner along with a haphazard sounding of hooves and reins jangling. A wheel screeched somewhere beyond the bend and the hubbub of a crowd rose towards him. Madeleine rushed forwards, praying that he would not hear the crunch of bones, though he had heard no tell-tale cries from any onlookers.

A man’s voice shouted out again as Madeleine walked straight into the shadow of a rearing horse. He ducked, quickly, though there was no real need. The creature had righted itself almost as soon as Madeleine appeared in front of it, mostly still but for a few clops from side to side. Madeleine saw that it was Javert’s horse, and that Javert was there beside it.

“What is wrong with it?”

“There is nothing _wrong_ with him, monsieur.” Javert’s voice held irritation as he gripped the reins from where he stood at the horse’s nape. Madeleine saw that his hands were nonetheless running along the horse’s chest, an almost soothing motion. Madeleine blinked. He stepped towards Javert, but the Inspector held one palm towards the Mayor to stop him.

“Clod was thrown near his eyes.” Javert was still looking at the horse. “It is nothing. He will calm”.

Madeleine looked about him. What townspeople were out at this hour quickly lowered their heads and left the area as quickly as they had gathered.

“Who threw it?”

“It matters not. I see no witnesses,” muttered Javert, then clucked his tongue as he brushed at and inspected Gymont’s eye. “There is no damage,” said Javert half to himself, half almost, it seemed, to his horse. He ungloved his hand now, still brushing about the horse’s face. Madeleine noticed then that Javert’s hat had fallen, and that it lay on its side at a stile.

By the time Madeleine had retrieved the hat, Gymont had ceased shifting, and only his neck swayed as he butted at Javert’s hand. Madeleine slowed as he walked up to the two, careful.

“He will not spook now, monsieur,” said Javert, as if sensing why the Mayor had not fully approached.

Madeleine covered his face with a smile. “Ah,” he said.

“A creature reacts as it would when vexed, but he settles in the right hands quickly enough,” continued Javert, still focused on Gymont. Indeed, the horse seemed quite content, head stationary as Javert prodded lightly about Gymont’s brow and jowl.

“And a treat, perhaps?” Madeleine’s tone was expectant. Javert’s eyes curved towards Madeleine, one brow raised.

“He is not a creature accustomed to treats, monsieur,” said Javert.

Madeleine hummed vaguely, and held out the hat. Javert bowed, took it, and donned it.

“I wish you good day, Inspector,” said Madeleine, as he stepped away, folding his hands behind his back. Javert nodded.

“And you, Monsieur le Maire.”

“I await your report,” said Madeleine, and turned away down the street.

Javert patted Gymont’s neck, giving soft clucks as he mounted and took up the reins. As the Inspector rode away, Madeleine’s head turned back, mouth half-pursed.

\---

Javert as he entered the hallway looked about to stamp his feet, and not because of the cold.

“I cannot believe Durand. Who gets into a drunken fight at ten in the morning? Durand. Of course, Durand.” Javert raked his free hand through his hair, the other currently bunched inside his overcoat sleeve as Madeleine struggled with it. Madeleine tutted. Javert looked at him, his caught arm outstretched. “What? He’s been thrown in the station cell till he sobers.” His fingers carded is hair roughly again, and muttered to himself, “It would be Durand. These people do not surprise me.” Madeleine had begun unbuttoning the cuff, but now his eyes caught Javert’s. Javert’s eyes narrowed at the expression on Madeleine’s face.

“You laugh at me,” Javert said.

“Not at all,” said Madeleine. The first button slipped out. Javert stood still, one arm stretched limply towards Madeleine, the other raised as his fingers, now loose, curled in the hair at the back of his head. Javert pressed his lips together as Madeleine continued to wrestle with the sleeve. And here Madeleine did laugh.

“You see.” Petulance threatened to bubble to the surface of Javert’s even tone.

“Not at all, Javert. It is a serious matter,” said Madeleine, still smiling. It was maddening.

“Yet you laugh.”

“I am happy,” said Madeleine simply. “Think no more on Durand.”

“Monsieur understands that I shall have to when I give you the report,” said Javert, but the bite in his words came out a half-hearted nip.

Another laugh, and Madeleine said, “Hush now, there is time for that yet.” The sleeve came off. Madeleine brought his hand to clasp the one at Javert’s head, bringing it back down to the other man’s side. Then he raised his hand again, and smoothed Javert’s hair down, tucking stray strands behind his ears.

“And now you fuss,” said Javert, but he did not baulk at Madeleine’s touch. The hair was damp from the day’s fog, and Madeleine rubbed at his fingers as he withdrew. Madeleine straightened Javert’s uniform, hands lingering at the edges of his jacket tails, and Javert did not shift away from that either.

Madeleine clucked his teeth, and smiled, leading Javert thus to the sitting room.


	7. Chapter 7

Javert had begun staying longer, beyond his recitation of the reports, beyond even the demands of courtesy and the polite conversation that followed.

“I have begun wondering if this is not your version of bribery.” The tea was very good. The sweetness from sugar, which Javert did not himself own, rolled pleasantly in his mouth. 

“But what could I hope to gain?” Madeleine’s tone was playful.

“My favou—” Javert began, but caught himself. He shook his head.

“Forgive me, monsieur,” Javert said, shaking his head again. “It is not my right to choose to favour you or not. You have my obeisance.” He frowned at his drink, turning it so that the light shimmered in the amber liquid, and harrumphed. “You see what these meetings do to me, monsieur? You would make me forget that I am your subordinate.” He glanced up. Madeleine was picking lightly at his armrest. He had stopped looking at Javert. Presently, he yawned, knuckles lifting to stifle it. 

Javert looked back at his cup.

As Javert took another sip, Madeleine spoke. “Perhaps _that_ is what I hope to gain.”

It was whispered too soft for Javert to hear. When he lowered his cup, he only saw the Mayor staring at him, face drawn. Javert met Madeleine’s gaze, and his tongue darted to run along the edge of his upper lip, puzzled by the change in the Mayor. He saw Madeleine do the same, that is, lick his lips. Then Madeleine started, and reached for his own tea.

“You are tired,” Javert said. “I have imposed on your hospitality too long.”

Madeleine smiled with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, coughed, and shifted in his seat. When he spoke, his voice sounded tight. “I think I determine that,” Madeleine said.

“Yes, of course,” said Javert, and tipped the rest of his cup back, the apple of his throat peeking above his collar as he did so. As he drank, he heard another cough, another shuffling. When his head was level again, Madeleine had crossed his legs, his shoulders slightly hunched. He was studying the fire, chin and mouth caught in one of his hands.

A mayor could be forgiven his eccentricities. After a minute, Madeleine shifted again, and reached to refill Javert’s cup. Javert stayed half an hour longer. They remained in silence. Madeleine got up at some point to stir the fire, then walked behind Javert towards the windows.

Javert remained in his chair, eyes lowered towards the table. He was comfortable in such a manner, and though such a thought should have caused him to jolt, just a little, it did not. Instead, he drained his cup of the last dregs of tea.

“You drink tea as if it were ale,” said Madeleine.

This statement caught Javert off guard, and he lowered his chin, taking the cup away from where it slanted towards his lips. Resting the cup in its saucer, he turned his head to look behind him. Madeleine had been a few paces away from where he was sitting, and now he neared, stopping beside Javert’s chair.

“I do not often take strong drink,” said Javert.

“Yes,” said Madeleine. “I know.” Madeleine laid his hand next to Javert’s forearm, on the armrest. He leaned his weight on that arm, chest moving past the borders of the chair. The shadows obscured his face. “It is not one of your weaknesses,” said Madeleine. He was leaning very close to Javert, his breath smelling like fresh tea leaves. His other arm now slung along the top of the chair. If Javert leaned back his head would touch it.

Javert tilted his head back a tiny fraction, and his hair pushed up against Madeleine’s arm. He lifted his eyes to the Mayor, and despite the shadows, was sure the Mayor smiled.

Javert’s lips slackened into the smallest oval.


	8. Chapter 8

It was a Sunday when Madeleine left the chapel and strolled, as he did on such days, through the town. He ended up at the stables. Javert was within. Madeleine removed his hat.

“Monsieur le Maire,” greeted the Inspector, heels clicking as he brought them together.

The man looked almost sheepish, though he stood rigid and attentive. His horse beside him in the stall had begun snuffling at his hair. Still, he did not move. Madeleine peered about Javert’s elbow, as the rest of his arms were held behind his back. “What have you there, Javert?”

“Hm,” said Javert. “Hm,” he said again. “There was a woman selling them in the street. They seemed acceptable,” he said, by way of explanation, as he held out his hand. Madeleine discerned cut apple pieces lying in the Inspector’s palm.

“It is not spoiling the horse, monsieur,” said Javert. In this, his words did not falter.

“Indeed not,” Madeleine hummed.

“They are given without association with tasks, so they are not rewards,” continued Javert. “He must work without the promise of those.”

Madeleine hummed again.

Javert inclined his head, as Gymont gave a soft neigh, and turned now to the horse, away from Madeleine. Madeleine did not step closer, pressing gloved fingertips instead into the brim on his hand.

“All the same, it aids the work. Between him and I.” Javert fed Gymont a slice as he said this, then all was still in the stables save for the nosing of the horse at the Inspector’s hand. Madeleine’s next word was hushed.

“Rapport.”

“Yes.”

Madeleine left, wishing Javert the best for the Monday. Javert did not wonder at the Mayor’s sudden departure. A Mayor had his eccentricities.

\--

Monday came.

“I need something stronger tonight,” muttered Javert, and the line of his shoulders rippled as he impatiently shrugged out of his coat, Madeleine holding it by the collar as he did so.

“There is coffee.”

The Inspector stopped short, mind working to understand the Mayor’s meaning. His eyes blinked when he realised what he had said and made to correct himself. Madeleine stopped him with a question.

“Has the day been that bad?”

A look from the side of his eye, a muffled snort.

“Monsieur le Maire thinks too highly of the citizens under his care.”

“Ah, I do not, Javert,” said Madeleine. Fingers gently pressed into the middle of Javert’s back, in the hollow just above the base of his spine. “Perhaps I merely think highly of my Inspector’s capabilities?”

Another snort, louder this time, but Javert allowed the Mayor to guide him through the hallway to the sitting room. Madeleine’s fingers were warm. Likewise, so were the points through Javert’s uniform that they touched, and Madeleine dared spread his whole hand, pulling the cloth taught, belying the power contained under it, before he removed it entirely. The points of warmth melded into a circle that lingered even after Javert sat down. It was not so strange a feeling.

Madeleine asked his housekeeper to brew coffee. Javert took three sugars, and accepted the bread with one hand, cup with the other. “This is excess—” began Javert, but Madeleine’s eyes reined his tongue. He shook his head, sat back again, sipped at the coffee.

“This is excellent, Monsieur le Maire,” Javert amended. 

The fire could not have lit Madeleine’s smile more, though it flickered and shadowed but a moment later. Javert, who was making quick work of the bread, whose fingers and eyes trotted to his ledger after a few more sips of coffee, did not notice. Another mouthful, a line read, so this carried on till the drink was finished.

“Thank you,” said Javert, as the Mayor lifted the now empty cup from him and placed it on the side-table.

Madeleine perched at the edge of Javert’s armrest, his saucer balanced on his thigh, and he looked seriously over Javert’s shoulder as the man read through the ledger’s last entry. If Javert felt a palm cupping the back of his neck, he didn’t mention it. When a thumb brushed against the base of his skull, just behind his ear, he only faltered on one word, then carried on speaking. His voice was deep, but with none of the harshness he reserved for the streets, and his syllables stepping in this room did not clop the way they did among his officers.

When the muscles at the side of Javert’s throat worked with a swallow, a caught noise bubbled in Madeleine’s own, but he did not take his eyes off the ledger, and neither did Javert.

Both started when one of the logs collapsed, a full minute after Javert had ceased speaking. Madeleine shifted, twiddled at his sleeve, and coughed. A warmth which throbbed at Madeleine’s temple began travelling steadily downwards, and he cleared his throat again in an effort to stop its descent. It almost worked. He looked at Javert. Javert’s chin had dipped a fraction lower. His lids slipped shut a moment, and his lips parted, the lower hanging heavy.

Madeleine’s breath caught, yet again.


	9. Chapter 9

The door opened before he could knock.

“Monsieur l’Inspecteur,” the housekeeper greeted, bobbing her head up and down. Javert eyed her, suddenly suspicious. One hand on the door frame, he ground a foot into the step and peered into the hallway, poised as if to bolt.

“Monsieur le Maire said you would be coming about now. I was just leaving for the day, sir,” said the little lady, and she curtsied, and proceeded down the path. The gate clinked shut, and Javert twitched at the sound. His hands now gripped the frame, staring down the empty hallway, unaccustomed to the lack of the Mayor’s immediate presence.

“Ah, Javert.” The voice came from the upper landing, and Javert looked up to see the Mayor. “Forgive me,” Madeleine said, “There was something I had to take care of.” His eyes flickered here, too fast for Javert to determine its uncertainty, before it settled into a reassuring contemplation of the Inspector, who still looked as if he was about to shirk away from the threshold. Madeleine descended the steps.

“Come. I had visitors yesterday,” said Madeleine. “I think you might appreciate the gift.”

“Surely it is not my gift to appreciate,” murmured Javert, as he stepped in, and removed his hat, the previous tension in his arm abated slightly. Madeleine had reached the bottom of the steps. The Mayor’s gait seemed different, heavier somehow, but the change was slight.

“Allow me,” said Madeleine, as he reached for the buttons of Javert’s greatcoat. His fingers were mild as they worked the buttons, but his voice, like his walk, had grown heavier, and Javert’s ears pricked at the sound. Warm hands slid within the folds of the coat and across his chest, past his collarbone and round to the ball of his shoulders, and this time the thumbs drew a small circle at each joint before Madeleine flicked the material off Javert. The cloth rustled to pool at his elbows, trapping his arms straight at his side. The Mayor’s hands followed, strong hands smoothing over the curves of muscle encased within blue jacket creases, and gripping lightly when they reached the forearm joins. The hands stopped.

“Ah,” said Javert, as he looked dumbly down at Madeleine’s hands. The thumbs had begun circling slowly again, over the inside of Javert’s elbows. Madeleine blinked once, twice, and hooked them in the bunched greatcoat sleeves and pulled sharply down in one movement. He barely caught the coat, hands thrust just behind Javert’s knees. Javert’s legs quivered slightly.

“Ah,” said Madeleine, to Javert’s thigh. He straightened, hung the coat, and walked ahead to the sitting room. Javert shook himself, and ambled after the Mayor. Again, he distantly noted that the Mayor’s steps, steady though they were, seemed weighted with something else.

In the sitting room, on the tea tray along with the usual arrangement of porcelain and hot tea, sat a dish with a mound of small, cut tablets. Javert neared, and noticed, and stopped.

Apple sugars. Javert stared at this anomaly.

“A merchant I do business with,” Madeleine explained. “He’d made a trip to Rouen.”

“Sweets,” said Javert. “You offer me sweets.”

Madeleine was already standing behind Javert’s usual seat, hands spaced at either side of the backrest. Javert realized then that the Mayor was not in his customary tail coat. Instead, his waistcoat hugged his body comfortably, and trim sleeves spilled to his wrists. It struck him as strange that he had not noticed this in the hallway. Madeleine was smiling, a small smile, more through his eyes than his lips.

“Surely,” Madeleine said, sweeping one hand to the plate of sweets, “You have been given sweets before? It is no crime.”

“No,” said Javert honestly, without inflection. Madeleine’s forehead creased into a frown at his reply, and did not quite un-crease. Javert lowered his head in deference. “But Monsieur is right. It is no crime.” He stepped forward and placed the ledger on the table beside the tray. His fingers reached uncertainly for the sweets. They hovered an inch above the top pieces.

“Go on,” said Madeleine, then something in his throat clicked, and the next time he spoke, his voice had taken on a new timbre: hoarser, lower still. “Please.”

Javert’s fingers clasped over a piece of apple sugar gingerly. He lifted it to his mouth, and tilted his head back, studying the innocuous, sugar filled confection. Fit for a king’s wife. Fit for a king, and here in Javert’s hand. He licked his lips tentatively, as if already tasting, tongue darting out into the air. The exposed line of his throat wavered as he swallowed down the saliva that had collected in the well of his mouth. He sucked in his lips, and licked them again. He looked from the sweet to the Mayor. Madeleine’s torso bent over the top of the chair and his gaze was heavy, fastened on Javert.

Javert’s mouth fell open, and his tongue received the sweet, drawing it in. As the tang of apples and boiled sugar flooded his mouth, Javert’s eyes slid shut. His hand returned, lax, to his side. He hollowed his cheeks around the sweet, sucking lightly, slowly, savouring.

Madeleine’s nails dug into the upholstery.


	10. An interlude

“Tea? Coffee?” Hands removing his greatcoat, the no longer strange warmth of Madeleine’s hands through cloth. An arm around his shoulders in friendly embrace, and that too was not strange.

“Coffee.” The choices permitted in the Mayor’s presence.

“Sugars?”

“Two.” The excess allowed.

“Cutting back, are we?”

A sharp tipping back of the head, a casual smirk. “I would prolong Monsieur le Maire’s stores.” The liberties taken with an over genial superior. Fingertips fluttering over his arm.

“Sweet?”

A long look.

“Yes.” The excess. A hand on the centre of his back. A flood of warmth pouring through this skin. And that was not strange either.

\--  
  
Javert shut his ledger, mouth dry from speaking, and took his tea.

“Have another sweet,” said the Mayor, tone easy, eyes not. Javert tapped a fingernail against his teacup lightly as he tried to interpret Madeleine’s expression, but he could not disobey the request. He set his teacup down, and considered the plate of apple sugars. 

Javert picked up another small piece, and passed it between his fingers, turning his hand as he watched the firelight play off its surface as if it were some jewel. “I should not get used to this,” he murmured. His teeth clenched, but they were hidden by the upturn of his lips. He pursed those lips now, looked at Madeleine, gave a small salute with the apple sugar, and placed it on his tongue.

Madeleine watched with undisguised interest. His gaze fell on Javert like a candle placed too near to skin. Javert felt it, and flushed, and rolled the sweet to the side of his cheeks as he made to speak. His tongue followed the sweet as his cheeks worked to accommodate it. Madeleine caught sight of the protrusion, and his brows raised and dipped in quick succession. He bit his lip, then seemed to tear his gaze with great effort from Javert to the fire, chin in his hand, index finger pressing into this cheekbone, mouth hid by the rest of his fingers.

“Monsieur,” began Javert, voice slightly muffled by the object lodged in his mouth.

Madeleine’s eyes shot back to him in response, and Javert felt something in him clench at the keenness of that stare, mixed with something black and enticing. What he had intended to say fell aside, unsaid and unremembered. He decided to concentrate on finishing the sweet instead. He watched as Madeleine’s face tightened, but Madeleine did not turn away again, and Javert looked back into those deepening eyes, unable himself to turn away till the sweet had entirely melted in his mouth. When it had done so he settled further into the chair, swallowing down the last remains of sweetness, and sighed.

“You should have one too, you know,” Javert said, closing his eyes momentarily. “It is only fair.” As he watched the flicker of dull orange behind his lids, he heard the rustle of the Mayor’s trousers shifting in his seat.

“It is enough that you enjoy them,” said Madeleine, his voice reaching across the space to twine behind Javert’s ear, coiled with the thrum of something unsaid which caused Javert to clench within again. He opened his eyes. Madeleine's attention was once again directed at the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating will move to M/E for subsequent chapters.


	11. Chapter 11

Madeleine stood in the stable doorway, leaning against a post. His face was hidden, but the sun’s rays outlined his frame as they streamed in through the doorway. Gymont had ceased being nerved by his appearances.

“Will you be available tonight?” There was a tremor in his question. Javert assumed it was on account of the morning chill.

“As always, at your command, monsieur.”

“I—Ah. Good. I will see you, then.”

Javert bowed, and resumed brushing Gymont’s mane. After a minute he turned again, having not heard the Mayor’s departing footsteps. Madeleine had not moved. Javert arched an eyebrow. “Monsieur le Maire must be very free today to come admire my horse,” he said, lips curved upwards at one side, still too polite to be counted a smirk. His voice seemed to startle Madeleine, and the man pushed off from the post, straightening at his jacket. He shifted his weight from his left leg to his right then rapidly back again, then reached up to tug his already straight collar straighter still. His head hung oddly as he contemplated Javert, but the light was too weak for Javert to read his face. Javert found the need to speak, here in the silence, and as he did the Mayor, as if suddenly released, began stepping closer.

“He is a good horse, as you have surmised,” he said, patting Gymont’s neck. “A bit strong-willed at times. But I would not have a mare, nor have him blinkered.” His eyes flit from Gymont to the Mayor, then at the floor. “It says more for the rider than the horse, those who cannot control their beast,” and here some smugness crept into his tone. Straw shuffled under Madeleine’s feet, throwing up little clouds of dust.

“When he yields, it is whole,” Javert said, his voice growing softer as Gymont began nuzzling his shoulder. “And his fire does not disappear for it. Rather, it is harnessed, and burns all the brighter.”

“That,” said Javert, “is what makes him a fine horse.”

“Is it?” murmured Madeleine, now directly behind Javert. An arm echoed his from behind, cupping his hand which was itself upturned towards Gymont. His elbow lay on the inside of Madeleine’s own.

“Yes,” said Javert, as Gymont nosed at first his fingers, then the Mayor’s. Madeleine’s breath ghosted across the back of Javert’s neck, floating past stray strands of hair to light on skin which quivered and throbbed and twitched. Javert tilted his head, exposing more of that skin, unsure if he did so to revel in or reel from the non-touch. He moved his hand under Gymont’s throat latch. “Here,” he said, “You can feel the horse’s strength in his neck.”

Madeleine’s hands did not move, but his mouth reached towards Javert’s ear, and he said, “Yes, I feel it.”

\--

Evening.

Javert did not crunch at sweets the way others who had perhaps had them in easy reach their entire lives. The way he ate them was also different from the way he often shovelled food into his mouth most days, wolfing down his meal in a bid to get back to work and snapping at those who dared to interrupt his progress. The Inspector’s jaw, usually so rigid, would soften as soon as the piece of apple sugar sat in his mouth, as if it were some key to unlock his face. Now he stood, as if hypnotised once more by the taste, elbow brushing against Madeleine’s, who beside him held the dish of apple sugars.

Madeleine watched as Javert continued rolling the sweet about within his cheeks. Javert’s lips were now puckered, redder than usual. His forehead had smoothed, brows slightly lifted as his eyelids hooded and blinked and shut and opened in the tiniest of shivers. Then a small sound of contentment issued from the Inspector, and Javert dipped his chin, swallowing the stickiness that melted off the treat. The line from the top of his head through to his pelvis tilted downwards.

The dish clattered onto the table top.

A hand reached out and stroked along that arch of bone and muscle. Warm, insistent, beginning at the top of Javert’s skull. The contact was too new, too sudden. Javert’s eyes shot open. The Mayor stood beside him, his eyes fixed on Javert’s mouth, own mouth parted, his grip tightening near Javert’s neck, squeezing there lightly before the fingers fanned, and turned, and continued their descent tips first. Javert’s head snapped backwards, eyes wide, transforming the curve of his back into a wave.

He gulped, both at air and at the sugary stickiness which welded his mouth shut.

“Ssh,” he heard Madeleine say, and another hand rose to his chest, travelling in slow circles across it, in equal pressure to the one at his back. “Ssh,” said Madeleine, “it is alright.” The circles on his chest grew larger. A chin came to rest on his shoulder. “Softly,” said Madeleine. “Do not speak.” Javert could not speak for the sweet in his mouth. Madeleine’s chest pressed against his side, rumbling with sudden mirth. “We would not want our Inspector to choke.” A strangled noise surfaced from Javert. The fingers on his back continued their trek. Javert’s breathing had become shallow and rapid, his stomach moving in and out, short streams of air audible as they whistled past his nostrils.

The hand dipped between Javert’s shoulder blades, rubbing at the hollow there, and Javert had to stifle yet another sound. His lids slid shut, the sweet was held loose between his molars. Madeleine observed that Javert’s lips were now in full pout, tumbling away from their usual held attention, shining with wet. It was Madeleine’s turn to gasp, even as his hand travelled lower still, and his breath opened the willing pores on Javert’s skin, stroking the underside of his chin, just where jaw joined throat. The heat from Madeleine’s hands, familiar and yet blooming with new want, left a mirrored trail down both front and back till they forked at his waist, resting on either side of Javert’s hips, gripping the belt.

Javert trembled once.

“If you would permit,” Madeleine murmured, his hip bone nudging into the jut of Javert’s own. “Please.” He moved behind Javert, chin still leaning on Javert’s shoulder, and tugged at the belt. Thus haltered, Javert followed his lead.


	12. Chapter 12

When he had entered the house that evening, Javert had noticed the lack of the housekeeper, that Madeleine had brewed the coffee himself, that for the second time, he did not wear his customary jacket but stood with shirtsleeves exposed, his waistcoat more unbuttoned than usual.

Javert had watched while leaning against the kitchen door frame as Madeleine went to retrieve the food, had seen the folds of Madeleine’s clothes grow taught along his back as he moved, the light greying within the creases. The Mayor’s footsteps had been more deliberate than usual, the heft and sway of his hips more pronounced. Madeleine’s shoes had seemed to hold increased weight within them as he stepped around Javert to the sitting room.

Javert had felt a slight flush, then. He thought he understood why, now, with Madeleine’s knee prodding steadily into the back of Javert’s, and the toned muscles of a thigh meeting his.

Another nudge, insistent. Javert took a step forward, moving with Madeleine round the table, till he stood in front of the couch, big enough for two, which neither had sat in during any of his previous visits. He heard the Mayor lick his lips, and felt the blood pound under him, as if trying to leap at where Madeleine’s throat nestled against his shoulder. Javert looked down at the couch, watching their silhouette dance across the furniture’s fabric and dark varnish. He gulped, throat both dry and slick at once.

Madeleine was turning him around, so they faced each other, the fire roaring behind the Mayor, the two arm chairs on either side counterpoints to where Madeleine stood. He was still hushing Javert, hands remaining at Javert’s waist, thumbs soothing circles and figures of eight where they touched under the worsted blue of Javert’s jacket. Then those thumbs dug slightly harder through cloth and flesh, pushing downwards on Javert’s pelvis. Javert fell back onto the couch, a weak grunt passing through his nose.

“Please,” said Madeleine again, now towering above him, hands now moving to cup either side of Javert’s face. His voice dipped lower as he leant in. “You have executed your service well, Inspector,” he murmured. “It is admirable.” Even in the shadows Javert could see that the Mayor’s eyes were shut. “Your devotion is your strength. I have watched it.” Madeleine swallowed, and sighed.

“Now, here.” His fingers reached under Javert’s chin, latching where neck met jaw, and touched the throbbing pulse there. “I feel your strength.”

“And here.” A hand trailed to splay across Javert’s now heaving chest.

“And here.” The hand on Javert’s throat left it and reached down to grip his thigh. His muscles flexed into that grip, eliciting a small moan from Madeleine, and the hand tightened over Javert’s leg.

Javert gasped thickly, the apple sugar completely dissolved. “Is this,” he managed, “Is this how you would build rapport?” His hands floundered at his sides on the couch, trying to gain purchase on their edge.

It did not seem possible, but Madeleine blushed, and angled his head in half-nod, half-shake. “This goes beyond,” said Madeleine, their faces now almost touching, and his fingers reached to tease at the clasps of Javert’s collar. “Your mouth,” he said, looking intently at the buttons now slipping out of their holes at his ministrations, “So stony in your duties, and then you come here, and—” Madeleine paused at a difficult button, the last one, and as that gave way, he said, “And it melts to sweetness. You know not what you do to me.”

The hands now fumbled at Javert’s belt, perilously close to the bulge which tented in the centre seam of his breeches.

“I wish to taste that sweetness.

“I wish to harness that strength.

“I wish many things, Javert,” said Madeleine, and Javert lifted his hips at his name, a sob lining his teeth.

Madeleine slipped off the belt. Javert heard the buckle thud to the floor, then Madeleine’s hands were once again running along Javert’s sides, now slipping in beneath the jacket folds to twist at linen. The touch, now only through thin cloth, doubled in heat, and Javert’s sob tore free. And Madeleine’s lips covered his, hesitant, gentle, overpowering, drinking away his voice.

Madeleine lifted away for a moment then swept back down, this time a tongue dipping into Javert’s mouth to lick at the sweetness there. Javert’s eyes were shut against the onslaught of wet and heat and oh. Oh.

“Oh,” breathed Madeleine, breaking contact once again. Javert groaned. His shirt lay open and loose now, and sweat coated his chest. His lungs were a furnace. Madeleine’s waistcoat still held the man’s shirt within him, but Javert saw the proud shadows pulling about the Mayor’s crotch, saw that they were growing still, and felt heat douse him anew. His fingers twitched, but before he could reach for Madeleine’s waistband, the Mayor had knelt, resting his forehead to the inside of Javert’s right thigh.

Hands reached to loosen Javert’s left boot. Javert let out a shaky laugh, more breath than sound.

“My coats. My boots,” he said, then shivered as Madeleine pressed a kiss to his calf, moved his head, repeating his movements with the right side.

Then Madeleine ran his hands slowly up Javert’s legs, beginning at the ankles, pressing face into Javert’s breeches and breathing in the scent of stables and rain. As the hands reached the apex of the trousers, Javert’s hips shook, and inched forwards, and his knees fell to the side. Madeleine kissed his thigh again. “Please,” whispered Madeleine, one of the hands racing ahead to caress the exposed stomach, climbing higher, feeling through his fingers how Javert’s heart cantered and swerved beneath his breastbone.


	13. Chapter 13

Apart from the rise and fall of his chest, Javert was unmoving, and Madeleine’s fingers twitched against fabric and skin both, stretching and clenching slightly, as if not daring to move further. He waited, cheeks burning, and nuzzled into the folds at Javert’s knee, panting slightly.

“Let me—” he began, but his words were cut as his hand at Javert’s chest was clutched in large, blunt fingers, and pressed further into the other man’s humming skin. Madeleine took a shuddering breath, and rose, with a noise like a lion attempting to bark, tugging at Javert’s easily relenting waistband. The waistband gave, was pulled down to reveal Javert’s undergarments before they too were loosed and followed suit, exposing his erection to the air. Javert sucked in a breath. Madeleine exhaled.

Javert held tight to the hand at his chest not sure if it was his doing that the hand now roved to brush across one nipple, then traverse in the other direction to handle the other. He tossed his head to the side, staring along the top of the couch to follow the trimmings of wood as the wound towards the floor. Madeleine’s hand continued its movement back and across, back and across in looping circuit.

“I have not—I have never—” said Javert, mouth tripping over his words. He looked back at Madeleine, noting the shine in the Mayor’s eyes, shimmering but fixed, like stars. Madeleine’s eyes held his, then dropped, a smile crinkling their edges as he stroked a finger along Javert’s prick. It ran, damnably light, from base to tip, and Javert jerked his hips forward.

“Neither have I,” said Madeleine, voice a deep husk. Javert whimpered, a low, stretched sound. Something fiendish crept into Madeleine’s look at that, and his finger left Javert’s manhood, causing another whimper. Madeleine reached somewhere behind him, untangling his remaining hand to work at his own trousers, just out of Javert’s reach. He toed off his shoes, letting his bottoms pool to his ankles before stepping out of them. Then he returned, and one palm pushed firm against Javert’s cock, rubbing slowly. The other approached, clenched, towards Javert’s mouth, thumb extending to caress parted lips, then the fingers there uncurled as the hand below closed to cradle Javert’s scrotum, and released a piece of apple sugar into Javert’s pliant mouth.

Javert moaned, tongue held down by the sweet, flicking towards the thumb, and then the fingers that followed it.

“Good,” whispered Madeleine.

Then Javert began to suck, the small wet noises making Madeleine shiver. Both men groaned in tandem, Madeleine through grit teeth, Javert around Madeleine’s fingers. Madeleine already had one knee levered on the seat, but now he clambered full on top of Javert, settling himself on Javert’s thighs, still cupping Javert between them. Javert’s hands found the Mayor’s waistcoat, finally, and began parting them, fingers desperate, tearing.

“Your strength,” whispered the Mayor, as he began stroking Javert in earnest, and Javert’s eyes found his, mouth still stretched over Madeleine’s fingers, coating them in sugared spit. The pop as Madeleine removed his fingers wrought another, needy keen from Javert, and soon Madeleine’s tongue once again traced the cavern of his mouth, battling with the sweet within for space. His hand on Javert did not seem to falter, and only increased in strength and fervour. Javert made a sound, that if he could speak, would have been ‘ _Dieu_ ’.

The sweet went quicker this time. Now, sticky lips kissed the sides of his mouth, nuzzled at his neck, ghosted over his earlobes and temples and Javert’s hips cant upwards again and again into the hand which held him between his legs.

“I—” said Javert, reaching his mouth to the Mayor. “I—”

“I would not,” said Madeleine, “have a mare.” Javert’s hips stuttered along with his voice.

“I—”

“And you,” said Madeleine, flicking his wrist as he gripped Javert’s base, wringing from Javert another jerk of his hips, “Are no gelding either.” He leant their foreheads together.

“I yield,” Javert groaned against side of the Mayor’s mouth.

“I trust,” replied Madeleine, and there was something painfully tender in his gaze, even as it dropped and he spat onto his hand, then brought it again to Javert’s now fully erect cock, coating it in spit. His legs gripped Javert’s hips and he raised himself. Javert had managed to bring his hands under Madeleine’s shirt to rest just on the crest of his hips, and now they slipped downwards, over buttocks, feeling as the muscles flexed and rippled, as the flesh warmed against his hand, further in, to the crease where the heat pooled—

Javert snatched his hand back, his breath suddenly cut short. Eyes wide, he lifted his hand away and looked at it from beyond Valjean’s shoulders. Something glistened on his fingertips, smelling of olives. He realised it was oil as he rubbed his fingers together, then looked at Madeleine. The Mayor was poised above him, hands now buried between shirt folds, reaching behind to stroke at Javert’s flank in soothing, slow caresses. “Hush,” Madeleine said, smoothing the now tense flesh there. “Hush.”

“You intended,” said Javert, mouth working.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, a hiss extending from him even as he reached behind him to grip Javert’s prick, even as he sank down over it till he could grind his pelvis against Javert’s stomach, trapping his own member between them. Javert cried out, thrusting upwards, into the Mayor’s heat, and Madeleine returned his cry. Madeleine shifted his hips, angled them, rocked again, then gasped, and began raising and lowering himself, burying Javert further in with each fall. It was too much. Javert squeezed his eyes shut, and turned his face to the side, eyelashes beating madly upon his cheeks. 

Madeleine was muttering half words of encouragement in his ear. Both their faces shone with sweat, and Javert was not sure whose he tasted on his lips. Madeleine felt a tongue reaching to lave at his cheek, and grunted softly, nosing at Javert’s chin. Javert breathed out sharply.

“This is not how I had imagined it,” Javert said, even as he bucked upwards.

“How would you?” sighed Madeleine into his ear. Javert opened his eyes, and looked beyond Madeleine’s shoulders into the fire beyond, taking in the mantelpiece, the wash of flames and the sparks which flew into the grate. He rested shaking hands on Madeleine’s firm thighs. As he spoke, Madeleine began moving again, and Javert’s hips moved in tandem.

“You would take me,” lowed Javert, and felt rather than heard the harsh gasp in his ear. “You would— I would be a dog beneath you. Your breath hot in my ear. Your chest pressed into my back.” Madeleine ground against him, knees clinging at his sides in a vice. “Yes,” continued Javert. “I on all fours, perhaps, perhaps I would like it as you,” he thrust, grunted, “Entered me, the way you seem to enjoy it now.” Madeleine’s fingers dug into his back, and his cock was hot and heavy against Javert’s stomach. 

“I would,” gasped Javert, feeling the tightness around him squeeze, and he bucked upwards again, “Clench like that.” Madeleine threw his head back and clenched again, then dropped back down, hands coming to cradle Javert’s face. He ran his fingers past brows which were lifted and (here Madeleine paused) wondrously open. Javert spoke again, murmuring into Madeleine’s hand, “And you, you would take, for all you’ve given, you would take.” He kissed the inside of Madeleine’s palm, and Madeleine’s chest was suddenly too full as Javert said, “And I would yield. I have done. Beneath.” 

Madeleine kissed his forehead, then let his mouth float to kiss the bridge of Javert’s nose. His words, whispered, had with them a strangled urgency. “Do not lower your worth,” he said, offering his breath to Javert’s mouth, sweet with the hint of their shared sugar. He tangled his fingers in Javert’s hair, not quite tugging, wondering at the softness. He pressed his lips to the hairline, mapping the forehead with them.

“But that is my place,” Javert’s voice said now, a mumble, even as his hips surged higher to meet Madeleine. “To be—” Madeleine placed a finger on his lips, silencing him, and another finger on his chest, and said,  
  
“You are within me.”

He rocked his hips, pressing into Javert, and shuddered, semen pulsing from him to coat the trembling skin on Javert’s abdomen. The glove of heat that encased Javert contracted and spasmed about him. Both men groaned together, and Javert thrust once more, twice, into Madeleine’s now boneless form, and came with a prolonged, guttural pant, Madeleine pushing back at him till he had spilled all. He shut his eyes, feeling hands cup his face once more as Madeleine stroked his cheeks and kissed them, tucking what hair he could behind Javert’s ears. He was whispering once more, as Javert’s breath slowed, but Javert could not hear what he said for the blood still in stampede past his ears.

So Madeleine continued kissing, as if to placate some unseen hurt.

And Valjean mouthed into Javert’s hair, “Forgive me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >   
>  _When to the sessions of sweet silent thought  
>  I summon up remembrance of things past,  
> I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,  
> And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:  
> Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow,  
> For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,  
> And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,  
> And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight;  
> Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,  
> And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er  
> The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,  
> Which I new pay as if not paid before.  
> But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,  
> All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end. _  
> 
> 
> **  
>  _Sonnet 30, William Shakespeare_   
>  **


End file.
